


appetency under the stars

by haibas



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Aone is a sweet and doting boyf, Bittersweet Ending, Catholic Guilt, Catholic Imagery, Datekougyou | Date Tech, Friends to Lovers, Futakuchi is Catholic and Confused and has a Lot of Feelings, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sex, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Religion, VC Date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:35:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29317983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haibas/pseuds/haibas
Summary: APPETENCY: the old archaic word for a longing or desire.To Futakuchi, Aone is a lamb, and he is a dove. But every thought feels like a nail hammered into his hands. He's crucified by both fear and love, but no matter how hard he tries, he always finds himself coming back to his lamb.
Relationships: Aone Takanobu & Futakuchi Kenji, Aone Takanobu/Futakuchi Kenji
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	appetency under the stars

**Author's Note:**

> i present to you all a vent fic i wrote about my two favorite babies when I was regressing and having a Very Bad Time. everything in this fic is loosely based off my experiences growing up queer in a catholic household because i like to project my problems onto my favorite characters (mental illness, luv xx)  
> writing this was very therapeutic and i encourage anyone that has similar experiences to seek help if needed. you are loved, valid, and important!

The week after Kenji’s tenth birthday is when he heard the word used against him by a stranger for the first time.

It was an awful word. It was ugly. Hearing it left a sour taste in one’s mouth, went down the throat with a stinging burn, and lingered in the pit of the stomach for hours. 

Kenji didn’t really understand the meaning just yet, though. Blinking aimlessly as the older boys as they teased and pointed, he nodded and went back to playing with the flowers in the grass. Maybe he’d go and ask Mama about this later. She’s used it before.

  
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. 

  
Sunday mornings brought the familiar feeling of aching knees and the taste of bitter, watered-down wine. Sandwiched in a pew between his little sister and his mother, Kenji’s eyes would dart around to the high ceilings, flickering candles, and stained glass windows. His mother would jab at his thigh, imploring him to pay an ounce of attention to whatever Biblical verse the reader was reciting or to whatever lesson the priest’s homily meant to get across, but Kenji never could bring himself to do it. 

There was something so ominous about getting up in front of hundreds of others and having the small, stale communion wafer be placed in his feeble palm. The smell of incense burned in his nostrils, and swallowing the “Body of Christ” down in front of all those eyes felt like a sin. It stung at his throat, almost as if it was itching and threatening to come back up at any moment. 

After mass, the Futakuchi family would usually drive home in silence, parents bickering about dinner plans, his younger sister’s head leaning onto the side of the carseat in a sleepy haze, and Kenji staring out the window blankly. He hardly focuses on the scenery, for there is much to think about now.

  
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. 

  
Kenji remembers the first time he heard the word. It hadn’t been used before in his household until his father suddenly stormed out of the house all those years ago, a few months before the boys used it against him. 

It seems like a blur in his mind, but he remembers Mr. Futakuchi huffing as he lugged a large suitcase behind him, coming over to pat Kenji’s head and whisper “be good for your Mom.”

Kenji recalls standing in the doorway, blinking in confusion. “Where are you going Daddy?” is drowned out by his mother’s shouts. She begs his father to come back, but her high heeled feet could only take her so far.   
  
Mrs. Futakuchi insisted for anything, please, that he can’t leave her here by herself to take care of these two, especially when Kenji’s “like that.” 

“He’s playing with his sister’s dolls for God’s sake!”

“That’s your problem now, not mine,” his father shoots back, jolting the car door open and stuffing his luggage into the backseat.

Eyes darting between his parents arguing outside and the front door, Kenji huffs and turns around to go back into the playroom.

Daddy will be back soon, he assures himself, sitting back down onto the floor and grabbing the dolls he had dropped when he got up to check out the noise. 

But that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

  
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. 

  
Kenji feels like he’s been banished from Heaven when he tells his mother about the incident with the older boys. 

She lets him finish his recount, silently setting down the ladle she had been stirring around in the pot teeming with dinner broth. After a pause, she turns around, facing Kenji with an expression so blank that he isn’t sure if she’ll start screaming, crying, or anything in between. As she slowly makes her way towards him and stopping about a foot away, his mother looks him up and down with tears in her eyes before pushing him down by the shoulders into the chair behind him. She doesn’t mind that she nearly slammed his elbow onto the tabletop in the process. 

“Kenji, listen to me,” she barks. “What they called you? That is not you. It is wrong.”

“Mama, what do you mean it’s wrong? What does it mean?” Kenji trembles, biting his lip and holding back tears. His mother has never been this firm and scary before. 

She reminds him of the Fallen Angel they talk about in Scripture, vengeful and angry, when she yells. “You are not like that. You like girls. Right, my baby?”

Kenji furrows his brows as a warm tear falls down his cheek. “I- I think so.”

“That is what God wants, right? Like they talk about at Mass,” his mother grasps his shoulders with shaky hands as she bends down to his level. “You promise me you’ll marry a beautiful girl one day and give me little grandchildren, right, my love?” She forces a painful smile as she wipes the tear from his cheek.

Kenji nods, fear bubbling in his stomach and flinching at her touch. “Mhmm.”

“Good. Never speak of this again,” his mother repositions herself upright and walks back to the stove, resuming her stirring. 

Kenji watches in silence and hoists himself out of the chair, making his way to his room. He feels like he’s been sent straight to Hell as he sniffs and wipes the snot from his nose.

“And if someone ever says that to you again,” she calls out, “you tell them that they’re wrong.”

  
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. 

  
Kenji once again hears the word that stings at the back of his throat shortly after he begins high school, and this time he understands full well the meaning behind it. 

Kenji now sits in silence in the grass at Date Tech, unwrapping the bento box his mother made for him alongside his classmate and teammate Takanobu Aone. They had taken a liking to each other the moment they met, and oftentimes found themselves enjoying a meal or studying alongside each other. Nobu was silent and doting, which Kenji didn’t mind. He went along with Kenji’s jokes and supported him, and that’s what mattered. 

The word is slung at him from behind by the upperclassmen walking nearby. Snickers are heard as Kenji turns around with wide eyes. 

Recounting the memory and his mother’s promise, Kenji’s face contorts. He shouts as loud as he can in defense, “Says you! No I’m fucking not!” 

Aone chuckles softly as he takes a bite of rice.

“I hate that shit… it pisses me off so much,” Kenji mumbles, shoving his box onto his lap and staring down at it. “I’m not fucking… whatever he said.”

“Gay,” Aone blurts out bluntly. The silence that follows is deafening.

“Yeah, that,” Kenji sets his box down and rests his back against the grass with a sigh. “But the bad word.”

Aone nods and goes back to picking at the rice in his container. They sit in penetrating silence as Kenji looks into the sky. 

He wishes an angel would come down, part the skies, and take him away.

  
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. 

  
Kenji turns seventeen shortly after he starts dating his first girlfriend.

He loves her. At least, he thinks he does. 

Something feels odd, but he’d never admit it to her outright. He’s learned that love is toleration, and he’s got his parents to thank for that. Constant bickering and going days on end without seeing his father before he officially left their home was Kenji’s normal, and his girlfriend only blowing up once a week at best was okay with him. At least she isn’t like his mom. 

She’s blunt, and being around her feels like she’s forcing Kenji into a box. Again, the odd feeling lingers.

“Do you not like me or something?” She grumbled one night, stopping him dead in his tracks in the middle of their third midnight car escapade of the week. 

Kenji gulps and stares up at her unresponsively. He can barely bring himself to enjoy the time they’re spending right now, bodies intertwined in the cramped backseat of his beat up car.

“I love you Kenji,” she mumbles as she grips the car seat above his head. Her face is dimly lit by the light from the street pole a few feet away when it hits him. She looks beautiful if he ignores the sweat around her brows and her reddening face, but Kenji doesn’t know how to tell her that he appreciates, and isn’t attracted to, her. 

“Well?”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.”

“About what? If it isn’t about me, stop it,” she spits out as she readjusts herself, slamming her lips into Kenji’s again. He follows her motions but he’s all too distracted, letting her take the lead. 

He’s supposed to be enjoying this. Right?

Something in the back of his mind wishes that it wasn’t her.

  
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. 

  
Kenji’s girlfriend never lets him hang out with Aone, which he doesn’t mind much, because volleyball offers him an escape. Aone understands, though, and is fine with seeing Kenji during practice and games only. 

“You sure? I feel bad,” Kenji readjusts his bookbag strap once it starts digging into his left shoulder.

Aone just nods as they continue walking away from the gym, making it onto the main dirt path behind Date Tech. “Your choice.”

Kenji sighs and twiddles his thumbs. Why does he feel guilty? He loves his girlfriend. Sure, she can be rash and quite controlling, but Kenji loves her. He was never one to settle; Kenji was known at Date Tech for his quick attitude and provocativeness. But something about his girlfriend had him genuflecting at will to worship her, like he kneeled on the pews every Sunday at mass.

“I think she’s too high maintenance,” Kenji deduces, rubbing the bruised part of his neck. His girlfriend had started the habit of leaving marks against his neck, scolding him if he kept them hidden. Something about proving to everyone that he was hers or something… he didn’t quite understand.

“What should I do?”

Aone looks over at him. As his eyes meet Kenji’s littered neck, he doesn’t acknowledge the question as he continues to walk at a quicker pace. 

The silence cuts at Kenji’s throat. He didn’t sleep well that night at all.

  
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. 

  
The stresses of keeping up marks in school and leading the volleyball team as Captain overwhelms Kenji, and he soon breaks it off with his girlfriend a few months before graduation. He’s relieved to finally have an excuse to let her go.

Their last year comes and goes, and once again Aone and Kenji find themselves at their spot in the grass with lunch. 

“You gonna keep playing after we graduate?” Kenji shoves a piece of boiled carrot into his mouth as he waits for Aone to answer. When he does, it’s exactly what he expects - a small nod, but nothing verbal.

“VC Date?” with another nod in response.

“I’m not sure if I want to yet,” Kenji says dejectedly. “I don’t even want to go to university anymore. I’m drained.”

“Get a job first,” Aone offers, picking at the grass next to him. “Then try out.”

And Kenji does just that. While he keeps in touch with Aone for the first few months of university, his studies catch up to him, causing him to distance himself. Although they keep up every few months through text, something in him wishes it was in person. 

Aone’s well established by the time Kenji’s finished, his job in construction allowing him to live on his own. Kenji barely scrapes by at his technical college, but his degree in chemistry is good enough for him to land a job at an energy company once he’s out for good. 

His mother, however, has other plans. 

As soon as Kenji’s diploma and credentials are delivered to her home, Mrs. Futakuchi kicks Kenji to the curb. 

In classic Aone fashion, he’d graciously extended a helping hand as soon as Kenji called him. 

“I’m sorry for the short notice, Nobu, but my mom kicked me out. I have two days to pack. Can I stay at yours for a bit until—” 

“As long as you need,” Aone interrupted. “Rent’s expensive. You can stay here.”

As Kenji slams his last box by the front door, his mother interjects, “I’m so glad Aone took you in, but don’t you think the experience of living on your own is more valuable?”  
“I dunno, Mom.”

“Before you go, I have something to give you,” she shuffles off into the hallway towards her bedroom, coming back a minute later carrying a small rosary and a bottle of holy water. “For you. Keep them on your bedside table, my baby.”

Kenji reluctantly takes the gifts and stares at them. They seem so small in his palm, roughed up from the years of volleyball, even though he hadn’t played since his third year at Date Tech. 

A small honk is heard outside their home.

“Go take your boxes, Takanobu’s here,” his mother sighs.

The religious items resting in his hand burn at his skin, and now he surely knows why. 

  
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. 

  
It’s been a few months since Kenji moved out of his mother’s home and into Aone’s apartment halfway across town. The feeling of freedom is bittersweet — he misses his childhood home and his mother’s home cooked meals, but being away from her completely brings a breath of fresh air to Kenji’s life.

Him and Aone take turns making dinner and cleaning. Quite frankly, their domestic lives work very well together — their schedules at the construction company and Kenji’s new job at an energy company align perfectly. Continuing their high school tradition of morning walks together, Aone and Futakuchi split halfway through downtown to their respective work sites and reconvene once their shifts end. Playing for VC Date has also brought them much closer than before.

It’s nice, Kenji admits to himself. Now that his ex-girlfriend and mother are completely out of the picture, he can finally rest easy again. But something in the back of his mind is convinced there’s something wrong. 

It’s a lingering feeling, something warm, but resting in the middle of his chest. It manifests itself at the highest point one night when Kenji calls out during his nightly fridge raid.

“Nobu, we ran out of milk.”

Aone’s footsteps patter into the kitchen. “Store?”

“I’ll go right now-” Kenji offers, pulling himself up to stand by gripping the fridge handle.

“Me too,” Aone interjects, grabbing keys from his deep pant pockets. “Walking?”

  
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. 

  
Aone’s on his knees in the aisle stocked full of rice. Kenji stands next to him, towering over him and observing quietly as Aone shifts between his left and right knee, grabbing at different rice bags. Somehow their voyage for milk developed into a full blown shopping trip. 

But right here, right now, in this small supermarket a few blocks down from their apartment, Kenji wishes he could stop time. There’s something so serene about watching Aone grapple with the bags, brows furrowed and eyes focused. A small warmth spreads across Kenji’s cheeks as he pushes the hair out of his eyes, admiring the man kneeling before him.

Aone lifts a bag and mumbles a small “mm?” of approval. Kenji’s eyes darted from the rice bag to Aone’s face — he was smiling. But something in Kenji’s chest shifted. 

He extended his hand out to Aone, pulling him up and staring straight into his eyes for a few moments. Time seemed to still, and it didn’t matter that they were in an empty aisle stocked full of rice and whatnot. 

“Futakuchi… Rice… Yes?”

Kenji bit his lip, cheeks reddening. “Oh. Sorry. Uhm, yeah.”

Aone’s look of confusion continued. “My hand?”

And yet Kenji did not let go, even as his clammy hand twitched.

“Do you mind?” He finally blurted out. “We just… stay like this. Yeah?”

Aone nodded in agreement and stood, staring down at Kenji softly. “Anything else?”

They kiss for the first time at the grocery store, right in the middle of that aisle. 

There’s something so primal that comes over Kenji when he gets onto his tippy toes and leans into Aone, pressing his lips softly onto his. _There’s nothing wrong with this,_ Kenji assures himself as they walk down the rest of the aisles, hands clasped together. _There’s nothing wrong with this,_ he thinks as they check out and pay for their things, walking home in silence. _There’s nothing wrong with this,_ Kenji almost blurts out as they stumble back into the apartment, dropping the bags of groceries onto the floor and pushing each other up against the wall.

_There’s nothing wrong with this._

His mother was wrong. It feels right, just like he’d known all those years before, as if the stars had perfectly aligned and the pearly gates of Heavens were opened for him, for them. 

It’s always been Aone. 

  
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. 

  
“My baby.” There’s two strikingly different scenarios in which Kenji now hears this nickname.

When his mother calls him “my baby,” it feels cold, like a small wind on a November afternoon. Over the phone, her voice wavers. “Oh, my baby, how I miss you. Come home any time you like, please, Kenji.”

The small prod is just a disguise. Kenji knows. He knows when his mother lies. It’s the same feeling he had when she forced him down that one night in the kitchen. The memory burns as his mother discreetly begs for him to come back on the other line. Does she expect him to abandon his new life, his new job, and his new apartment, everything he’s worked so hard to get? 

Emitting a deep sigh and resting his coffee cup against his apartment’s kitchen counter, Kenji hisses out one final response to his mother. 

“I’m quite busy these days. You have my sister. Bye, Mom.” 

“Mom again?” A soft voice calls out from the hallway as Aone steps into the kitchen, holding a few cups and plates to place into the sink. Kenji nods, setting the phone down and taking a sip from his coffee cup. “She wants me to come home.”

Aone grunts, placing everything in his hands down into the sink and snaking his arms around Kenji’s waist. As he props his chin onto Kenji’s shoulder, he hums softly. “You going?”

Kenji mutters a small “no.” 

Once again, he wishes they could stay like this forever.

When Aone calls Kenji his baby, it’s different. His words feel like honey. They are sweet and soft; Kenji now grows a liking to the nickname.

Aone says it for the first time when they go grocery shopping a week after Kenji’s twenty-third birthday. They’d been living together for a while now, and it reminds Kenji of the peaceful, blissful times where his parents got along and were in love.

 _In love_. The concept had always scared him, but with Aone, nothing mattered. This love was devotional, soft, and it worked. _Meant to be_ , as they’d say. Kenji always had stars in his eyes when he was with Aone, and he couldn’t imagine what life would be like without him. 

Aone was doting. Soft spoken, he says it again when Kenji rolls over in bed in the morning, the sunlight peeking through the blinds. He’s met with a small smile, the nickname, Aone’s hand pushing Kenji’s hair back and a kiss on the forehead. 

Somehow, he was no longer afraid. There were far better things to be concerned with now.


End file.
